


A Proposal, Interrupted

by StarsAreMassive



Series: Tying the Knot [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Mexico, Oblivious Ian, Post-Prison, captain mickey, like so many fucks, mandy keeps this shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive
Summary: 2 years after they get out of prison, Ian and Mickey are happy in Mexico. But noisy ass neighbours making stupid assumptions about their relationship get Mickey thinking.





	A Proposal, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> The Spanish here is supposed to be awful, you guys. I just love the idea that Ian Gallagher could pick up Russian - a notoriously complex language - pretty well, but Spanish is just beyond him. Just. Prepare yourselves. 
> 
> Meant to be be cute and ridiculous, overall.

The door to their apartment kicked open and Mickey grumbled his way into the kitchen, arms loaded with groceries.

" _¡Estás bromeando!"_ Ian's god-fucking-awful Spanish, broken through his dumbass, too-loud laugh floated in from the hallway. Apparently the shenanigans of their elderly neighbour's awkward shit of a teenage grandson were just too fucking unbelievable to put the ice cream away in a timely manner.

" _Usted no lo sabe. Puede que le gusten las personas incómodas. Creo que es lindo, ¿sí?_ "

 _Cute my fucking ass,_ Mickey grumbled. "GALLAGHER!"

"Just a sec, Mick! Jesus!"

"Yeah, while your gabby, desperate housewife ass is melting the fucking ice cream! I don't think so. Get your ass in here!"

He heard the frantic rustling of a paper bag and Ian's sharp, "Shit!"

"Sorry Mrs Juarez. Shit um -  _el helado necesita congelador_."

Mickey heard a delicate laugh and rolled his eyes. Mrs Juarez was pretty damned fond of him for some reason. She'd spend a lot of time narrating the life story of her dear, deceased husband - in great detail - whenever Ian sent him over to fix something or take the old bat her groceries or whatever Boy Scot mission he was hell bent on that day.

"Yes, yes," he heard her say. "You give this to husband. Make sure he eats. He is too long on boats in sun all day!"

Jesus. Fucking.  _Christ._

She'd already snapped her door shut before Ian could set her right.

His footsteps were slow as he walked into their apartment. No chuckles. No wisecracks. No humming. Mickey didn't hear a damn thing from him until he felt the heat of Ian fucking Gallagher at his back. 

Mickey bit out a sigh. "Shut the fuck up."

A tub of half-melted ice cream was set on the counter on his left. A glass container wrapped in foil and smelling on enchiladas was set down on his right. He could practically hear Ian's shit eating smile. 

"Miic-"

"Don't think I won't kick your fucking ass, Gallagher."

Solid, large hands gripped his hips and tossed him over and he got to see that stupid grin in all its red, freckled, Irish glory. 

"Don't you mean, 'husband'?"

"Fuck.  _Off!_ "

Mickey shoved at his chest and Ian couldn't hold back anymore. He threw his head back and cackled. Grumpy, outraged Mickey was his favourite and he took full advantage of any opportunity to provoke The Eyebrows.

"What's wrong, Mick? Don't want anyone thinking you're a Gallagher?"

He  _just_ managed to dodge the projectile can of refried beans.

"Yeah, like the world needs another one of those. Like fuckin' rats - _Ay!_ "

Ian removed his elbow from Mickey's ribs. "Shut up and put the beans away, idiot," and he floated off the the living room with a wet kiss to the cheek and a firm smack to the ass. 

Fucking Gallagher. 

* * *

 

Mickey didn't think on it much for a while. They fucked, they went to work, and they ate dinner together everyday. If Mickey was feeling particularly generous (or usually when Ian was on his ass and wouldn't let up until he got what he wanted), he'd let his boyfriend drag him out to a local bar. Their favourite thing though, was to sit and watch a flick together without any interruption from the outside world. Presumptuous neighbours and cock-blocking sisters were not. fucking. welcome. 

One night when watching a movie ( _Segal motherfucker. It's my turn tonight_ ), Ian had fallen asleep, head on Mickey's lap and curled up tight so his giant ass legs could fit on their tiny ass couch.

Mickey watched the light from the TV flicker across Ian's face, slack and peaceful in sleep. The blue-ish tinge made his pale skin look even paler, like an eerie glow shining from his pores. Mickey's rough hands swept gently through copper hair. The black lines on his knuckles were erased for a second at a time by red strands he just couldn't get enough off. 

 _Husband_.

It was a word that sure as shit didn't make him feel good. Before, it had meant broken hearts all round. It had meant split knuckles and black eyes; being backed into a corner he couldn't fight his way out of. All his choices gone. Ian, gone. It had meant pistol whippings, blackmail, ra-

He hacked to clear his throat, shook his head, snapped out of it. 

_It's just a fuckin' piece of paper._

Marriage. Why the fuck was he thinking about marriage now?

_Not to me._

Oh. That's why.

* * *

 

"This better be important, dick breath."

Mickey shot up from the deck and smacked his head off the roof of the cabin. 

" _Fucker!_ "

Mandy snickered as he rubbed furiously at his head. Bitch would bruise, he knew it. 

"The fuck you so surprised for? You're the one that asked me to get here at the ass crack of dawn."

"Yeah but I didn't think you'd show, bitch."

He didn't. As Mandy climbed aboard, coffee clutched in those claws she called hands (which were vicious, he knew by experience), Mickey felt a fierce flash of gratitude that his bitch of a sister was here with him. 

When he and Ian had gone to get her from New York, she certainly hadn't bitten their hands off to run off to Mexico. She'd spouted some spiel about having her own life and being in control for the first time ever, but like shit was Mickey leaving her behind again and Ian was the most stubborn fucker he knew. Between them, she hadn't stood a chance. 

"Now," she threw herself down onto a bench, tucking her feet beneath her to escape the suds where Mickey had been scrubbing the deck. "Why the fuck am I awake?"

Mickey took a deep breath and Mandy started guzzling down her coffee. It was now or never. Nut up or shut up.  _Fuck_. 

"I wanna ask Ian to marry me -  _bitch I just cleaned that!_ "

*

She'd hit him a lot. Fuck knows how he was going to explain the marks to Ian. But, eventually, she'd calmed down enough to help him figure out what the fuck to do. She'd come in hitting hard, though. She spent a solid forty minutes dreaming up grand gestures and a whole romantic suckfest that made him want to throw up.

"Calm your tits, Mandy. I ain't doing any of that shit."

She huffed and scowled. "I swear, you better find the one romantic bone in you body for this, Mickey. You're only going to propose once, and Ian loves -"

Mickey's 'stress hands' (Ian's term, not his) went flying. "If you know what he loves so much, why don't you fucking marry him!"

"Because you've got the dick, assface! Now shut the fuck up and listen to his best friend."

So they'd compromised. Mandy had still kicked him and sworn down blind that it'd be a miracle if Ian said yes - like he didn't fucking know that already - but finally, they had a plan. 

It started with a ruse. Get Ian to join him on the water by hook or by crook. Mickey was quite proud of the excuse he'd dreamt up. He'd ask Ian to go out with him to test out a new route for the tourists. Ian wasn't a fan of sailing, but he always got this stupid, proud-as-fuck look on his face whenever Mick spoke about his job. Like driving boats for richies was an accomplishment or something.

He'd even picked the perfect spot. There was a pretty little strip of water, real quiet in the evening, just off a cove with a great view of the sunset. They would anchor there for a while, watch the sun go down like a couple of fags, and Mickey would ask him straight out.  _"You gonna marry me or what, firecrotch?"_

He thought it was simple. Them. Mandy thought he was an idiot. She forgave him pretty quick though when he took her to help him pick out the ring. 

After all the planning and plotting, the day had finally come. And, as if the universe had finally remembered that he was a Milkovich and there was some great cosmic order that was leaning too far in his favour lately, it all went to shit when Ian came home in a shitter of a mood. 

Ian announced his return home by slamming the door and throwing his kit bag half way across the living room. He worked part-time as a life guard down on the beach, and the rest of the time for a fitness company that ran gyms, outdoor classes and running groups and all that shit that Ian loved but made Mickey want to roll over die. 

"The fuck's up with you?" Mickey stepped out the bedroom in time to see Ian throw himself face down on the couch. 

" _Gamph ah niff_."

Mickey hit the back of his head. "You wanna try that again, mumbles."

Ian twisted his head a little, still not looking at Mickey. "Sam's a dick."

Mickey nearly drew blood, he bit his lip that hard to hold back a sigh. Sam - oh, fucking  _Sam_ \- was Ian's fellow trainer and an all round douchebag. As soon as Ian had started with the gym company - his very first day - Sam had been on him and Ian had come home with an arch nemesis. He was rude as shit to anyone who wasn't his client, made people feel like shit for not lifting enough, or doing enough reps, or looking a certain way. And pale-skinned, homosexual, red-headed, bipolar Ian Gallagher had been a prime fucking target. Except for the way that years of running around Southside and spending two years in prison meant Ian smoked Sam hands down when it came to physical fitness. Once that little tidbit had come to light, Sam had made it his mission to make Ian's life hell. 

Mickey lifted Ian's feet and sat on the couch, setting them back over his lap. "What'd the shit head do this time?"

"I got Carmen to join us for a jog outside today."

Mickey's brows shot up, surprised an impressed. "No shit? Good for you, man." Carmen was one of Ian's favourite clients. She was a tiny thing, with no confidence, after her shitty ex had done shittier things that Ian didn't tell him about and Mickey didn't want to know. She'd joined the company Ian worked for to build her confidence, get fit and learn to look after herself, and Ian was her trainer. It was something he was proud of since she'd been through three others before he'd taken her on. Only thing was, she still got super nervous going outside, and Ian had been working with her for three months. 

"No. Not good for me, Mick, because as I said, Sam's a fucking dick."

"Okay?"

Ian huffed and flipped over, staring at the ceiling and clenching his fists. "We were half-way done. She was doing so good. Right in the middle of the pack. Then Sam comes leading his group run in the other direction - he was supposed to be off like, twenty minutes before. I swear he fucking waited for me or some shit."

Mickey traces a thumb over Ian's ankle and his boyfriend breathes a bit deeper. 

"That asshole knows her issues. Shit, he was her first trainer, and she fucking hates him but that's not the point. He sees her out with me - oh Mick -" Ian sat up. "You should have seen his face. I thought he was going to be sick. Then he gets this real mean look and calls her out -"

"Ah shit, man. What he say?"

"Hey Carmy," Ian mimics Sam with his best frat boy impression. "Nice to see you running. Your man was here just yesterday - you might need it."

"Hey, he's a dick man, forget about it."

Ian brandished a finger at him. "No, no. No. I can't forget about it, because after that Carmen just shuts down. Stops running. I think she stopped fucking breathing. I had to get once of the other guys to lead the group back to the gym. I practically pushed her the whole way back, and when I did get her inside, she started emptying her locker, telling me she's quitting the gym."

"Ian -"

"He had no right. She was doing so good. She deserves to feel good about herself, and feel safe. Who the fuck is Sam to take that away because he's a jealous fucktard?"

"Ian." Mickey gripped his calf. "He's a cunt. You and I know, there ain't a damn thing you can do to stop cunts from being cunts."

Ian huffed a deep sigh, rubbed his eyes, and nodded. 

"Come on man, the trip will make you feel better. I promise."

Ian groaned and pulled himself off the couch, swinging his legs off Mickey's lap. "Can we just not, today? I'm not in the mood."

Mickey stared at Ian's back as he walked off to the bedroom. If Ian had looked back, he'd have seen that dangerous glint in Mickey's eye, crooked eyebrows, and thinning lips.

"Are you fucking shitting me?"

Ian paused mid-step. When he saw the look on Mickey's face he grimaced, turned back, and lingered in the doorway. "I'm sorry baby -" Mickey growled at the pet name - "but you know whatever route you take them, they'll love it. You don't need me for that." And with that, Ian turned around and drifted into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Only, it didn't stay shut for long. 

"Are you fucking  _shitting_ me?!" Mickey burst through it like an angry hurricane.

Ian had one leg in his sweatpants, one out. His hair was ruffled where he'd ripped his shirt over his head. He blinked as the full angry force of Mickey Milkovich barrelled into the room. "I - what?"

"No.  _Fuck_ no. I've been planning this shit forever. Get your ass in gear man, we're going."

"Mick -"

"Don't 'Mick' me bitch. Just move your ass."

And he'd forgotten, momentarily in his fury, just who he was dealing with. Then Ian tensed his jaw and the Chin made its grand appearance of the evening and Mickey knew this had all gone to hell in a hand-basket. 

Fucking.  _Gallagher_.

"The fuck we are. I'm not going. I'm staying in, and trying to figure out how to fix this shit."

"This shit ain't your to fix," Mickey ranted. "Not tonight. You're mine tonight, so stop being a stubborn dick."

Ian raised his other leg. 

"Don't you fucking do it, Ian."

He placed his toes into the leg of the sweatpants. His eyes held Mickey's and he slowly, slowly, slipped the sweats all the way up his legs.

It was silent. Ian watched Mickey. Mickey watched Ian. Until Ian snapped the waist band. 

"Fuck you, Gallagher!"

Mickey stormed from the room. He heard Ian tripping over his own legs following him out, but he refused to turn around and look at the ginger shit head. He opened the closet just outside their room, stole out a blanket and marched towards the couch, prepared to make his bed for the night. Fuck marriage, and fuck Ian Fucking Gallagher. 

"What is your problem?" Ian yelled behind him. 

"No problem," Mickey sneered as he fluffed the couch cushions into place. So what if his fluffing method involved more fists than most people's. "Not like I had planned anything. You can explain it to Mandy though, because I ain't touching that one."

"What the fuck does Mandy have to do with anything?"

"Oh, you'll see. Dumbass. Good luck with that."

"What the fuck is going o-"

Mick threw a cushion as hard as he could at Ian's stupid face. "I was trying to propose to you, you dick!!"

Turns out those tiny compact couch cushions could land a pretty solid hit. But you wouldn't have known it from Ian's face. The redhead barely flinch as it bounced off his face and fell to the floor with a flump. 

Mickey chewed on his lip in the silence that followed. He watched a dozen half formed expressions flick over Ian's face, until he managed to whisper, "Holy fuck."

Ian didn't move, didn't say anything else, and it was starting to put Mickey on edge. His hands flapped uselessly at his side. "You alright, man?" he muttered, barely looking at Ian. "You're not like, in shock or anything, are you?"

He wasn't quite sure when Ian had gotten a hold of the cushion, but he had, and next thing Mickey knew, Ian was making a damn good effort at bludgeoning him to death with duck down, whatever the fuck that was. He fell back, pinned to the couch by a giant and furious ginger dickhead yelling with every hit. 

"Why. The fuck. Didn't. You say. Any. Fucking. Thing?! _Asshole!_ "

"I fucking tried!" Mickey yelled beneath his arms, which were busy as fuck protecting his face. Ian paused for just a second, and Mickey yanked the cushion from his grip and tossed it across the room. "I fucking tried! But you had to go and play martyr!"

Ian sat back and Mickey twisted and dislodged him, and sprung up from the couch. Ian's voice, strangled and a little bit horrified Mickey liked to think, was behind him as he swaggered off. "You were really going to ask me to marry you?"

"Sure fucking was."

Ian sighed, thick and shaky. "Mick I - wait. Was?"

Mickey turned, straight faced and serious. "Oh yeah, I take it back, now. You ruined the proposal."

Ian spluttered to life. He scrambled over the back of the couch, leg catching on the cushions and nearly falling flat on his face. "No way. No backsies! You can't just take back a proposal, Mick!"

But Mickey had already turned away, popped the bedroom door open with his hip, and flipped Ian off over his shoulder. "Watch me, bitch."

_"Miiiick!!"_

 

 

 

 


End file.
